Tea, Fussiness and Forever
by NarglesInTheMistletoe
Summary: He loves too easily. She is fussy. He wants forever. She longs for something more. One-shot.


**I don't upload enough.**

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**Tea, Fussiness and Forever**

Dean Thomas was not fussy.

He didn't argue, he didn't take offence, he didn't complain and he didn't have a _type_ of woman.

Sure; he had standards. He wasn't about to let any girl have her way with him. But he was not like Seamus; they didn't need to be blonde, they didn't have to like Quidditch, they didn't have to hate Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and they didn't have to read murder mysteries. There was not a specific woman right for Dean Thomas.

Because Dean Thomas was not fussy. He could take almost anything in his stride. He shook off insults (not that many insults were thrown his way, as he never gave anyone much of a reason to dislike him). He let people have their way. And come to think of it, that was probably why him and Seamus got on so well; Seamus_ needed_ his own way.

And so just about any girl could be loved by Dean Thomas. Parvati told him that was one of his greatest faults; he loved too easily. He got lost in batting eyelids and smiling lips and chiming laughter. To him every girl that he liked was the prettiest, the smartest, the funniest, the most unique.

Luna Lovegood was, astoundingly, very fussy. You wouldn't know it from looking. You wouldn't know it from knowing her even. But Dean being Dean, he was trapped by her little pink lips and her eyes that he falls into and her soft, pale skin and her tangles of long, blonde hair. And Dean being Dean (all sweet, all funny, all calm and mellow) found himself in a mutual attraction.

Mutual attraction was not something common for Dean Thomas. On the odd occasions that him and Parvati functioned as a couple it was a constant war; pushing and pulling and jostling the other, Parvati screaming and Dean staying quiet, knowing just how much that infuriated her. And Dean and Ginny were never Dean and Ginny; it was just Ginny and her boyfriend. Because like most teenage boys, he would do _anything_ for Ginny Weasley. Just one look into her coffee-coloured eyes and he was under.

But Luna; Luna was something different.

It wasn't like Parvati; it wasn't spawned from a friendship that only existed because of Seamus and Lavender. It wasn't like Ginny; it was an entity beyond Dean's admiration of her long, red hair and beyond Ginny's need to be loved.

Luna was more, and she had been ever since Shell Cottage. He never spoke to her in DA; just gave Seamus a disapproving nudge wen he laughed at her. Dean didn't look at her quite the same after she insisted on him thanking Dobby, and he was enthralled, if not somewhat unnerved, by her admiration when he carried the goblin inside after the elf dropped them on the wet sand.

It was a long night, their first night at Shell Cottage. They were weak and exhausted; he had been beaten by the Snatchers, she had been starved in that dungeon. The tea Ron's sister-in-law brought them was nurturing; it seemed to bridge the gap, give them strength, and the night was spent talking, just the two of them, in hushed, raspy voices.

The weeks after dragged on in serene isolation; Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ron's brother and his wife seemed to exist in a separate world to Dean and Luna in Shell Cottage. It was a place of revitalisation and peace. The walks on the beach with Luna seemed to drag on for days, but the night always came too early for his liking; always was never enough when it came to Dean and Luna. For the time at Shell Cottage he never really imagined life could continue without her. They spoke of silly things; times with his sisters, her dad's magazine, favourite bands and books, classes at school. They spoke of important things; Death Eaters, her mother, his father, their friends back at Hogwarts.

When the old DA coins alerted them to return to the castle, they did so as if it was second nature; they got to their feet, gripped each other's hands, apparated into Hogsmeade, entered the grotty pub, climbed through the tunnel behind the portrait and fell back into the Room of Requirements. He took her hand and they left to fight; it was as simple as that. When the fighting was over they sat; they spoke of silly things and they drank their tea. It seemed decided at that moment that they were staying together.

It didn't take them long to find a place; one bedroom, faulty kitchen, the windows didn't open properly. But it was theirs. It was their Shell Cottage. A part of him imagined that in the future, perhaps with kids, they would find a place beside the beach, walk along the sand like they did at seventeen.

Their content lives, their jobs working in cafes and bars on Diagon Alley, was the peace he had always wanted; his life was a sweet ritual. But Luna wasn't like him; Luna was fussy.

'Is this all we're ever going to do, Dean?' she asked him one night, curled up against him in their bed, their skin bare against each other. 'Lie in bed? Serve drinks and have tea?'

'I don't know,' he had said without much consideration, his fingers untangling the knots in her hair. 'Whatever you want. I'm fine with anything.'

That was where he was wrong. She had decided she needed to see the world before she could settle; before their perfect life could be _her_ perfect life. She had gone to Europe; he had told her he'd miss her and he'd be waiting. It was years after that before he accepted that she never intended to come back. It was years before he accepted that, although she would try, she wouldn't be content with a perfect life lying in bed and serving drinks.

In a few weeks she was back; she wasn't distant and she wasn't cold and she loved him just the same as ever. But never the less, a few months later she was gone again. And then the next time she came home he started to wonder how much more time she needed away. And then the next time she went away he wondered if she would be as long as last time. And when she came home he found himself just counting down the days until she left again.

'I can't just stay in one place,' she said when he asked her if she would leave again.

'I can't just wait,' he said softly, sipping his tea, looking into her eyes; the endless pools of silver.

He didn't even try to convince himself that she would come back next time. That night he knew it was the last time he'd make love to her. In the morning when he kissed her goodbye he knew she would never kiss him again. But still they smiled, still they told each other they'd miss each other, still they told each other they'd see each other soon.

Looking back, it was silly of him to think that he could ever keep hold of her. Silly of him to think someone like Luna could stay in love forever. She was infrequent and shifting and unpredictable, and he loved that about her. Even the letter that broke his heart made him love her; the way she said _I love you more when I miss you_ made him smile, because he knew there was no one like Luna. And he knew he was one of the few people who could have the short, sweet time with her. And so he was happy.

Perhaps he would have stayed happy if it wasn't for the fact that there _was_ someone she could love forever. That there _was_ someone who would have her children, have the house on the beach.

He had always accepted that he was a push over. Always known that he wasn't forceful enough. What he could not accept was that he couldn't hold onto her.

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><p><strong>So yeah, review?<strong>

**I think I'm starting a collection of one-shots revolving around all the background characters in Harry's year. So yeeah; if you love Dean, Seamus, Michael, Padma, Daphne and all the other impertinence then please check on my other account; ****Tomiko Lou****.**

**xxx**


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